


Waking Dream

by sourweather



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Dream interpretation, Dreams and Nightmares, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Internal Conflict, Language of Flowers, M/M, Morning After, Post-Canon, at least about his own feelings, hannibal is very obvious, i just want will graham to have one good nights sleep, will graham is stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 13:33:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30056223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sourweather/pseuds/sourweather
Summary: "We usually have recurring dreams because of unresolved issues, be they internal or external. I assume that this isn't a good dream."Will deflated into the chaise near the fireplace, reclining. Christ, he was exhausted. "It's the bones of a dream, in the skin of a nightmare."
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 8
Kudos: 51





	Waking Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Idk I just want Will to have everything he deserves. some of those things include having a good night's sleep, feeling loved, and getting a good dicking down.

Will stood in the doorway, looking into the study. Hannibal was sitting at his desk, sketching an image from a book that sat propped open. The record player in the corner cast the sound of a violin through the room, rich and somber. Though to the untrained eye Hannibal looked the same as ever, Will knew him well enough to see that he was content, happy. He felt a familiar twist in his stomach. 

Will Graham was a man divided. At times he felt like a pair of conjoined twins, both struggling with the same level of desperation and agency. Perfect opposites with equally strong feelings that lived within him. On one side was a Will who craved violence. Raging incessantly, he wanted nothing more than to tear Hannibal apart. On the other side, a version of Will who could hardly stand to spend a moment without Hannibal, who called out to the other man with heartache and longing. Their war sent Will into a constant state of misery. When he treated Hannibal harshly, or thought of betraying, his longing half would fill him with remorse. If he treated him with kindness, the raging side would call him weak, a traitor. He knew no peace. 

Hannibal's desk faced away from the door. The music would mask his footsteps. Will could sneak up on him, or try to at least. 

To what end? When he got within reach of Hannibal's arm, would he break it or bring the hand to his lips? Would he decide when he got there? 

"When the Greek poet Orpheus was tasked with leading his lover Eurydice from Hades, he wasn't permitted to turn and look at her face. When their journey was at last about to end, Orpheus turned a moment too soon, and Eurydice was cast back to the underworld." 

Will froze, listening. 

"Sometimes I worry that when I look at you, you'll slip through my fingers, and return to the sea." 

He sighed. "I'm here, Hannibal. You dragged me from the underworld with your own two hands." He could feel the cold embrace of the water enveloping him even now. Could remember Hannibal's arms pulling him to the surface, helping him to shore. 

The Will who was longing felt his heart tighten at the mercy. 

Hannibal turned at his words, smiling as Will approached the desk. Will leaned against the desk, looking at Hannibal's work in progress. He was sketching flowers. Round bouquets, with feathered petals. 

"Reminds me of Sheldon Isley," Will said. In a flash, he recalled Hannibal's floral display, and the Will who raged wanted to reach for the scalpel sitting among the pencils. 

"One of my less impressive pieces." 

"Perhaps just underrated." 

Hannibal's eyes flicked up to Will's, dark as night in the evening glow of the study. "Perhaps." 

"Are you brainstorming for a companion piece?" 

His attention returned to his work. In comparison to the vibrant pink and red of the photo, Hannibal's greyscale approximation looked a little sad. "No. Just keeping in practice." 

"I don't think I've seen these flowers before." 

"Probably not. They're mainly native to Asia, and some parts of Europe." 

They were quiet for a moment, the violin's refrain easing any awkward silence, if there was any room for awkwardness left between them. Will watched Hannibal, so soft but so precise, as he shaded the delicate petals. 

"They're quite lovely, don't you think?" Hannibal said after a while. 

Will shrugged. "I guess. I've never really been a big fan of flowers." 

Hannibal smirked to himself. "I'll make a note of that." The longing Will smiled. 

"People have been using specific flowers to communicate emotion for millennia," Hannibal continued. "But according to English Floriography, this flower represents gallantry and solidarity, and is one of the few flowers whose meaning is decidedly masculine." 

Will chuckled, picking up the book to study its contents. "Is there anything I could possibly bring up that you don't have deep cultural knowledge about?" 

"You're welcome to try, I enjoy our conversations." 

Will observed the small clusters of flowers. They were sort of pretty, as flowers go, at least. The species caught his eye, and he laughed again, shaking his head fondly. Sweet William flowers. Of course. 

He set the book back on the desk. "You're so sappy." 

"I prefer the term 'devoted'." 

"Too bad. You've always been sappy." He felt the affection curling around his words, tried to shake it off. To recall something horrible the other man had said, something that cut straight to the core of him. 

'If I saw you every day forever, Will, I would remember this time.' 

It jumped to his mind so easily, like Hannibal had just said it. It was certainly painful, the raging Will was practically foaming at the mouth just thinking about it. 

"Do you remember when we met at the Uffizi Gallery?" 

"With perfect clarity," Hannibal said. 

Will nodded. "Me too." 

The violin's sound had started to seem less melancholic and more saccharine. Will felt a little dizzy. He cleared his throat. Too far in one direction and you'll lose your equilibrium, Graham. 

He ran a hand along his face. "I remember it so well that I'm having dreams about it," He confessed. 

" 'Dreams', plural?" 

He nodded again. 

"We usually have recurring dreams because of unresolved issues, be they internal or external." Hannibal erased a section of petal, and Will could tell that his contentment had been broken. "I assume that this isn't a good dream." 

Will deflated into the chaise near the fireplace, reclining. Christ, he was exhausted. "It's the bones of a dream, in the skin of a nightmare." 

"How so? Describe it to me." 

"Desperate to psychoanalyze again, Doctor Lecter?" He asked teasingly. 

"It might help to talk about it." 

Will tilted his head back, eyes slipping shut as he tried to recall the dream. 

"I'm in the gallery," he said. "I know that I'm in front of the Botticelli, I'm sitting on that bench right in front of it but-" 

"You can't see the painting?" 

"It's like it dissolves when I try to focus on it." 

The violin was still drifting through the air but the scraping of pencil had stopped harmonizing with it. He had Hannibal's full attention. "Not being able to do things based on visual memory like reading or telling the time is common in dreams." 

"It's 5:27 p.m. You're in Winnipeg, Manitoba." It was a cruel thing to say, but it was only a shadow of Hannibal's past actions. His rage was pleased with the silence that followed. The rest of him was not. 

"Sorry," he said. 

"What happens next?" 

"I hear someone walk in, and in my head, I know that it's you. But when I turn around..." He exhaled sharply in frustration, realizing he'd backed himself into a corner. "It isn't you, but at the same time, I know it's you." 

"I look like someone else in the dream?" 

"Sort of. It's kind of weird to explain." He pictured the Stag Man in his head, dark and frightening. "It's something from a vision I used to have back when we-" Wanted to kill each other? When did that end? "When we lived in the states." 

"A vision of me." 

"Of the Chesapeake Ripper," he clarified. It felt like a pointless distinction, but it meant something to Will. The man who put Will in jail, and the man who stroked Will's hair to soothe him when he was sick, those couldn't be the same man. 

"I see." Did he? 

"The vision reaches out to me, digs its hand into my chest, and rips out my heart," he recounts, picturing it in his mind. "I watch as it eats me alive." 

"Does it hurt?" 

Will opened his eyes. "What?" 

"Most people don't feel physical pain in their dreams. I was just curious." 

Will didn't want to answer. Thought about lying. "It doesn't hurt. It feels...good." 

Hannibal nodded to himself, deep in thought. "The solution is simple, if you'd like my help. The only way to stop a recurring dream is to fix the issue that correlates to its meaning." 

"And what do you think it means, Doctor?" 

Hannibal smiled. "You're joking, right?" 

"You seem to think that I am." 

Hannibal stood, moving to sit on the edge of the chaise. Will tensed, ready to fight or fly. 

"Oh, Will. My sweet Will." 

"Call me William and see what happens." 

Hannibal chuckled fondly. He placed a hand near Will's waist, putting weight on it to lean over him. Both sides of him agreed on one thing, this action set his heart racing. 

"There is nothing I love more than to dance with you, Will. But must we dance forever? I confess, my feet are aching. Why don't we sit out the next few songs?" 

Hannibal drew nearer, tilting his head slightly. His lips parted, eyes closed. 

'If I saw you every day forever, Hannibal, I would remember this time.' 

Will turned his head away, a half-hearted effort to deny him. Both parts of his divided mind screamed at him- the longing half for rejecting Hannibal's love, and the raging half for letting him get so close. 

Hannibal's lips brushed his ear and he shivered. His voice came low and smooth. 

"Let me give you something new to dream about, Will." 

Both sides of him are strong, their war unending. Regardless of what happened tonight, they would both be there tomorrow. Would it really be so terrible, if the longing side won tonight? 

\- 

"Will." 

He felt a warm hand cup his jaw, thumb dragging along his cheek. Still half-asleep, he leaned into the touch. 

"Wake up, Will." 

Hannibal's voice was gentle, and Will hummed in response. He forced his eyes to open, just a fraction, and saw the other man looking down at him. 

Will smiled. "Good morning," He mumbled, stretching. He felt the silky fabric of Hannibal's sheets beneath him, caressing his bare skin. 

Hannibal sat on the bed beside him, taking a sip from a cup of rich smelling coffee. "Did you have the dream again?" 

"No. Well, yes, but it was different." 

"Different how?" 

Will closed his eyes, could feel the draw of sleep pulling him back in. "Still got eaten alive, but at least it was you this time." 

"Was it frightening?" 

A tired smile tugged at his lips. "No." 

It felt weird to say it, but it was the truth. 

"The bones of a nightmare in the skin of a dream," Hannibal said. He set his mug on his bedside table and laid beside Will. "Which dream do you prefer?" 

Will rolled to face him, looked him in the eyes. The raging side of him seemed quieter today. It was still lurking, in the background, but it was weak. He was tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of dancing. Shouldn't he be allowed to rest? 

He guided Hannibal forward by his jaw, caught him in a gentle kiss. 

"I prefer what I see when I'm awake," he said softly. 

Light poured in past the curtains, bathing the two of them in its glow. 

"I slept through the night," Will said, fully realizing it for the first time. 

"You did," Hannibal said. 

He sat up, half expecting to suddenly jolt awake from this dream. He'd spent so many years just waiting for the next bad thing to happen, it felt strange to be so calm. 

"I feel good." He sounded surprised. A part of him was. 

"I'm glad," Hannibal replied. "Maybe you should sleep in my bed more often." 

"Maybe." 

His arm snaked its way around Will's waist, gently urging him back down toward the mattress. "Maybe you shouldn't leave it just yet." 

"Maybe," He said, letting himself fall back into Hannibal's embrace.


End file.
